


Tunnel Vision

by I_write_fanfics_not_urls



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: Dark, Fiction, LGBT, M/M, Multi, Other, Runaway, Trafficking, abusive content, fictional characters, noncon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-01-17 06:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12359634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_write_fanfics_not_urls/pseuds/I_write_fanfics_not_urls
Summary: Sebastian Moretti, an adopted child in a seemingly utopian world of white picket fences and crucifixes, has never been able to click with the others. In a place where he is shamed for who he loves, he finds a strange, deceitful friendship in a travelling man. No one seems to notice the oddities of their relationship...until it's too late.





	1. Friday

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Tunnel Vision](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/329799) by Daniel Goldman. 



> Author's Note:  
> This is a work meant to bring awareness to modern day slavery, not just in the world around us but in the very cities we live in. I am going off of research from the Human Trafficking Resource Center, as well as news sources and personal testimonies. As a fifteen year old who has never been involved with this, feel free to correct me on something or leave suggestions- all I have are the accounts of those brave enough to speak up. This is not intended for romanticization of the terrible crime going on in our world, so fuck you if that's what you're reading this for.  
> If you or someone you know may be a victim of human trafficking, please contact the resource(s) below, and if you are not in the US and have a hotline, please comment or message it to me so I can add it.  
> US: 1-888-373-7888
> 
> There are an estimated 21 million victims of human trafficking in the world today, and the people who think this is okay make an estimated 150 billion a year worldwide off of the suffering of others. 55% of these victims are women and girls, and a large percent of them are in the care of our governments' foster systems when they are taken.  
> In the US alone, the National Human Trafficking Hotline receives over 100 calls per day, and the number of victims per year is only rising.  
> Help reduce that number to zero.
> 
>  
> 
> ADDITIONAL AUTHOR'S NOTE:
> 
> THIS IS NOT MADE TO DEMONIZE PEOPLE CONSENSUALLY WORKING IN THE ADULT ENTERTAINMENT/FILM INDUSTRY EITHER. IT IS A REAL JOB, BUT HAS BEEN CORRUPTED BY A BUNCH OF SICKOS WHO THINK IT'S OKAY TO FORCEFULLY TAKE SOMEONE'S INNOCENCE. THANK YOU.
> 
> Sources:  
> The Polaris Project  
> National Human Trafficking Resource Hotline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian struggles with bullying at school, and meets a strange man who seems to understand him a bit too well.

Today was different from any other day.  
Today was different, ironically enough, because Sebastian knew it would be exactly the same.  
A tangle of awkwardly cut black hair and lanky limbs the hue of coffee and cream, the boy sat up, pulling the mauve sheets around him like a bastion from the snowy world. Or perhaps, he was a monster in the snow.  
Oh, hell, what did imagination do him anymore?  
He closed the blinds, sheets held over his frame, and got dressed in the dim light, boards creaking beneath his toes as he put on his uniform. The cracks in the blinds would light up his eyes, like sunlight shining through a glass of iced tea; a kaleidoscope of warm browns set like almond shaped gems into his face seemed to light up his expression as he awoke, slowly. Bare feet, nearly drowning in stiff black fabric, stepped carefully over broken bottles as he passed the sleeping body of a working, or, at least, should-have-been-working-by-now woman as he made his way out the door, avoiding the spots of carpeted floor that let out muffled creaks in order not to invoke the wrath of the snoring creature to his left. Stepping out of the warm rose hues of the utopian household, he pulled on his shoes and exited into the icy air.  
It was 7:52am.  
It wasn't cold enough to snow yet. A pleasant 37 degrees Fahrenheit, certainly a temperature low enough to make a student shiver in their uniform, hung in the air with damp, cold fog surrounding the bare trees and the skinny boy that trudged through the mist. Now and then, a yellow lamp would light up the water droplets suspended in air, but Sebastian was alone with his thoughts, an empty stomach, and numb hands and feet. He pondered, in his quaint little train of thought, whether being able to count one's ribs counted as cheating on a math test. Soon, school loomed in front of the boy, whose cheeks had been coloured the same blotchy pink as the quilt in his room that used to house another child. Maybe that was why he was gay, he thought to himself. They forgot to change the sheets from pink to something else when they adopted him. Then again, they forgot to do a lot of things, and pink was the least of his worries. He noticed a car. A black Acura, parked in front of the very large, slowly-oxidising crucifix in front of the school, but didn't think much of it as he headed through the gates. School passed, as usual, the meandering of students through the halls meaning almost nothing save for the occasional shove. The classic antics of Catholic schoolboys ensued, cackling and pushing and swearing their spoiled mouths off when the nuns turned their backs. All of this- plus the fairly recent time he was slammed into a locker trying to get to biology- gave Sebastian a headache. The only thing exciting that day seemed to be flurries of snow and the detention he got for drawing Moses splitting the Red Sea as a little stick-figure comic on the desk he occupied. Corporal punishment stung like a bitch.  
As he went home, Sebastian turned his Walkman on, feet tapping on the sidewalk rhythmically as he walked with the beat. Life was peaceful- that much he could pretend. Last night's frost had melted away, leaving a dusting of roses that blossomed on his nose and cheeks, lips powdered purple with the colors of twilight. A quarter note- he stepped, hopping over puddles and smiling to himself. He tapped out measures with bony fingers, his hum raspy as if he only dared to speak to the beat of the music. Drowned deep within oversized clothing, his heart beat with the song.  
Footsteps.  
His heart began to beat faster. He didn't dare turn- he didn't dare. He could see them in the corner of his mind's eye anyway. She had long black hair like him. But her eyes were the color of sharply cut emeralds. He was blond, with the same eyes. They all shared the same eyes. He started to walk faster, for the first time taking notice of his badly shined shoes and the way his loose shorts tapered into two skinny legs. He moved those legs faster.  
It was like a dance.  
First, first one must don their coat of freezing wet mud, bitter tasting and rough to the skin, as they fell. Sebastian felt himself trip. And he laid there. Then...then came the kicking. Little jabs to the gut. Jabbing, jabbing, jabbing. Hope they don't hit anything vital, was his first thought, as he laid there, almost bored. It hurt. It always hurt, but he couldn't quite feel it.  
And then it was gone.  
He laid in the cold mud for a while, relishing in a dull ache that overtook his body and pondering the possibility of wallowing in justified self-pity for a little longer before, he remembered, he had homework. He got up and trudged home.  
"Mother? I'm home."  
"Mh."  
"I got beaten up today."  
"That's nice, dear."  
A pause.  
"I feel like crawling under my sheets and strangling myself out of existence."  
"That sounds lovely."  
Another pause.  
"I'm going to do cocaine with my sodomite friends and die at the ripe age of fifteen, suffocated in a satanic orgy by a large hairy man."  
"Be home for dinner.  
He dumped his bag onto the floor -- faded pink with purple flowers, and a scratched out face that looked like it might have been Dora the Explorer at some point -- and went upstairs, listening for the slurping of wine like some victim in a cheesy horror movie, listening for the sounds of a beat satiating its hunger.  
Maybe blood would start dripping through the cracks in the ceiling.  
He peeked out of the blinds, using bruised wrists as leverage to keep a frail body up as he stood, on his tiptoes, to get a view of the sidewalk outside the house. Children played across from him in the twilight, and he could smell barbecue smoke. A familiar black car stood forebodingly, planted in a stubborn manner and casting a shadow of singularity over the neighborhood as if nothing else mattered. Like some sort of siren, manifesting in Sebastian's lust for...well, getting the fuck out of here. The similarities between this car and the car at school -- the dent in the left side of the bumper, the license plate -- didn't occur to him. Not yet. Abandoning his homework as the sun faded between the cracks in the blinds, casting shadows on the papers scattered across a twin sized bed, he decided to go for a walk. No one he knew was ever out at this time of day, and he shared the lilac sky with the birds, the tall shadows of white picket fences, and the occasional car careening down through suburbia and back to a waiting home. As he walked, the strange black car followed him for half a block before turning onto another street and parking, a few dozen meters away, once Sebastian came to a stopping point. The teen sat, lonely, on a low hanging swing, rocking back and forth and listening to the creaking of cold metal as he thought. And thought, and thought. He could leave the state with less than 200$ in his pocket, he figured. Was dropping out of school as a freshman legal? Probably not. With another creak, a man sat on the swing next to him and began to rock back and forth in a matching rhythm to Sebastian's own. He appeared just as lonely, but his eyes were flat like stones at the bottom of a creek, unblinking as he stared at the younger for a full five seconds.  
"Hello."  
Sebastian startled, eyes flying open and away from his well of melancholy thought. It was dark now, and he could barely see anything except for the silhouette of the person staring at him, one side of the stranger lit up in dingy yellow light from the lamps lining the street. His eyes were a darker brown, skin blotchy but darker than Sebastian's own. He didn't look well off; He sat, catlike and curious, in dirty threadbare clothing.  
"I'm sorry...who are you?" The boy flinched at his own words. That came out more rude than he intended, certainly.  
"Just someone as lonely as you, friend."  
They stared, unblinking, at each other.  
"Sir?"  
"I'm sorry." The stranger gave a disarming laugh. "You just remind me of someone...how old are you?"  
"Fifteen."  
"Fifteen..." He repeated. His pupils seemed to dilate, eyes becoming black in the dark of the night, but Sebastian didn't notice. "You look grown up."  
"Uh...thank you?" The boy frowned. "I'm turning 16 in May."  
"Almost there, huh?"  
"....what do you mean?"  
The man hesitated, picking his words carefully.  
"Almost ready to leave the nest, huh? Be...independent."  
"You sound like you mean something else," he laughed to cover the nervousness in his voice.  
"What, you swing that way?"  
Sebastian was sure this guy was joking. Was he? He seemed completely serious. The night grew quiet and heavy around the two of them as if God himself had abandoned them to an awkward silence.  
"No, I'm straight," he lied.  
"...oh."  
"Well, I don't know."  
"Oh."  
The man's pupils seemed to dilate once again.  
"Is it okay if I ask for your number?"  
It was Sebastian's turn to be shocked. "Sir, I'm...I'm a minor, that's not..."  
"Well, you're very mature."  
Suddenly Sebastian's stomach started to churn. He knew something was off. Something...but the man's body suddenly seemed to be a plinth made of flesh, blood, and guilt, staring at him with eyes that begged for...he couldn't find the words. He gave the other his number, quietly, and started walking away before either of them could speak.  
As soon as he turned the corner, he ran home, the anxiety in his stomach taking the shape of fragile, transparent butterflies to hide the worry he felt. Desire was not something that he'd been on the receiving end of. Then again, he was mature, right? And...  
He'd called him friend. Friends weren't something he had.  
He caught his breath on his doorstep before heading inside, too soon to spot the headlights of a familiar car and the gaze of a familiar young man.


	2. The Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian's suspicions about the stranger, Ethan, raise slowly from oblivion as he gets texts from an unknown number with warnings about his new "friend."

The next afternoon, Sebastian ran out of school as soon as the bell rang, breath clouding as a barrier of cold air hit him like a stinging slap to the face. He put his hands over his mouth, attempting to breathe some life into them, before stuffing them into the pockets of his coat and starting the walk home on slippery ice.  
"It's dangerous to walk home in weather like this."  
A familiar voice rang, loud and clear, through the shrillness of teenagers surrounding Sebastian. The black Acura stood behind the stranger- now somewhat of an acquaintance- like a menacing beast that he'd somehow tamed.  
"I heard there's a storm coming. Let me drive you home, it's what, a mile? No harm in it." He flashed a charming smile.  
"I don't even know your name."  
The stranger tilted his head, and spoke after a moment of hesitation. "It's Ethan. C'mon. I'm sure your parents don't want you caught in a snowstorm."  
His parents wouldn't bat an eye. Sebastian followed him to his car, snow crunching under their feet in almost-perfect unison, and he slowly got in.  
The car was nice. A well kept interior, rosaries hanging from the rearview mirror, and the pungent yet familiar smell of coffee hanging in the stagnant air inside the car. Ethan tapped his fingers as Sebastian sat in the passenger seat, waiting for him to buckle his seatbelt before he started to drive. It seemed to be a longer way than was needed by far, but no one bothered to give or ask for directions.  
"Have you read Matthew 7?"  
The question came out of the blue, and the student seemed caught off guard by it, locking eyes with Ethan for an unsettling moment at a stop light before he averted them.  
"No."  
"It says that only God can judge a person, sinner or not."  
Sebastian shifted, not answering, and let out a sigh crushed by the weight of guilt on his lungs.  
"It doesn't matter what God says in the end, does it? We'll never know what he actually said."  
"Well...why do you trust people who don't know what he said either any more than yourself?"  
The boy's stomach turned.  
"Hey, cool your jets, I'm not saying that...that religion's bad, just...it's what you make of it. Not what a preacher says it is. They can lead you in prayer, not tell you what you pray for during it."  
This man gave him an eerie vibe, but his words rang true. Sebastian fidgeted with his hands, small, skeletal fingers emerging from his coat as his face went dark with embarrassment. The man just sighed.  
"Do you think you're wrong for who you are?"  
"Yes. It's not what was intended for me."  
"Then why are you that way?"  
A heavy silence filled the car again. Sebastian looked straight ahead into the contrast of streetlights against the slowly dimming sky. Ethan seemed to be driving down a street that wasn't Sebastian's own, a long one that would soon lead to a highway outside the county. His fingers clutched the wheel- he knew this location better than Sebastian's address.  
"Where are we going?"  
He made a U-turn, heading back in the direction of Sebastian's house.  
"Home."  
Quiet, again.  
"Sorry. I was thinking."  
They drove through a few minutes of suspicion filled quiet before Sebastian was dropped off a block away from his house. Ethan opened the door.  
"Have a good day."  
When the black haired boy got out, something unexpected came from the other man.  
He kissed his hand.  
Sebastian gave a polite smile before rushing away, glancing towards the lit windows of his house before he ducked inside.  
He tiptoed through the quaint, porcelain filled place, setting his backpack down. He didn't notice his mother until it was too late, the bony figure of a woman standing above him with half empty wine bottle in her hand.  
"Who was that?"  
"No one, Sara."  
A hand, just as skeletal as Sebastian's own but much, much paler, gripped at his shoulder, false nails digging into his flesh like talons. Her voice was sickly sweet, a pretence of comfort that her son knew all too well.  
"You can tell your mother anything, you know that, Sebastian?"  
His glare spoke words of its own.  
"He kissed you."  
"On the hand, Sara-"  
"Mother."  
"On the hand, mother."  
"That's all it takes, you know, men who choose that- that lifestyle prey on young boys. They need help."  
"Let go of me." He shook her hand off, clutching his shoulder and maintaining his glare.  
"I know what this world is telling you, Sebastian, but...people take pleasure in hiding from the light, you understand? The men and women who wallow in this...this mental illness. They need help. I know you're a nice boy, I know you didn't mean it, just...perhaps make time for confessional on Sunday. If only to cleanse yourself."  
Sebastian ducked underneath her arm, starting towards the stairs.  
"Maybe I do like men, Sara, but at least I'm not drinking myself to death. We'll see who goes to hell sooner."  
Before she could utter any words of warning, reach out to grab him once more, Sebastian slammed the door to his room shut and made the extra effort of pushing a chair in front of it. He didn't appear for dinner, nor did he leave his room until hunger beckoned late the next morning. His mother was still asleep, he knew that- she was a lightweight, and this habit would do more than give her a headache someday- so he took the opportunity to steal a few dollars from her and duck out of the house.  
The car stood parked a block away. A can full of white paint, one that usually belonged in Sebastian's garage, was kicked to the curb next to it, the words "fag" and "pedo" written boldly and sloppily over the hood. The windshield was shattered, the crack webbing out through the entire window. Ethan stood, trying to scrub the paint off. As he spotted Sebastian, he gave a weak smile and a wave. Sebastian felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and he reached slowly into it, gazing down at the cracked, dusty screen as Ethan began to head over to him.

Unknown: it's all manufactured you know  
Sebastian: What is?  
Unknown: ethan  
Sebastian: How did you get this number?  
Unknown: i stole it  
Unknown: don't trust him, he's gonna ask you to go to a party don't go

Sebastian deleted the number from his phone as Ethan came over, looking up at him with a polite half smile as he approached. He was sympathetic, somewhat, a knowing spark in his eye as if he knew exactly who the assailant was and what it felt like, being chased after by them.  
"Hey."  
"Hey," Ethan replied softly. "Uh...so. Do you know who did this, or...? I didn't mean to cause you trouble."  
"Cause me trouble? No, no, it's totally fine..." Sebastian cleared his throat, rocking back and forth on his heels. "I...I have an idea. But there's not much I can really do about it. There's a motel just past my school if that helps, I can show you where it is."  
"That would really help, thanks. I can, uh...I can get a tow truck or something. This old thing needs to be repaired anyway...it's seen a lot." He ambled over to the door of the car, putting some things into a duffel bag and hoisting it over his shoulder. It looked like he lived in the old vehicle, really, by the way the back seats were flattened out to create a makeshift bed. He let Sebastian lead the way, watching him closely.  
They walked for a while. The moist, cold black earth was starting to reveal the possible beginnings of Spring beneath melting fragments of snow, and not a single cloud dared to show itself.  
"I feel bad...Ethan, right? I...I can't think of how to..."  
"You can come to the party my friend's having. Tonight." Ethan nudged him. "C'mon. Live a little, huh?"  
Sebastian laughed nervously and stumbled as he was pushed, shrugging. "I-I guess...where is it?"  
"I'll text the address to you. If I don't see you there you're helping me clean the paint offa my car, alright?"  
"Alright..." The boy chuckled. In a heartbeat, Ethan was gone, leaving Sebastian standing in the parking lot of the motel. One window was lit, and the silhouette of a small girl faced out at him, watching closely as he pulled out his still-buzzing phone.

Unknown: he's 36  
Sebastian: Who are you?

The next image was a picture. A valid driver's license, with an age and name, sat on the screen in front of Sebastian's eyes. The girl in the window had disappeared, curtains rustling behind her.

Unknown: don't do it  
Unknown: don't go  
Unknown: his name is isaiah young and he'll hurt you don't go

Sebastian sighed and silenced his phone, beginning the trek back home. This was gonna be a long day.


	3. Intoxication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian attends a party, and things get out of hand. Luckily, or so he thinks, Ethan is there.

n the evening, Sebastian was at the address he'd been texted. Might as well 'live a little', he figured, it wouldn't be that bad, and he'd much rather trust the advice of someone who at least bothered to introduce themselves. That stranger could've grabbed a license off of anyone, right? He knocked on the door and was immediately whisked inside; it wasn't long before he began to feel out of place. Some of these people were 17 at most, but some of them were in their 30s, prowling around the crowd and staring at women and men alike as if they were pieces of fresh meat. Eventually, after what felt like hours of his sweater-vest clad form weaving through layers and layers of body heat and dancing couples, he found Ethan, talking with a couple of the older men. As he approached, he felt their gazes dig deep into his skin.  
"He one of yours?" A large silhouette spoke, eyes glinting.  
"Uh...yeah, Ethan's my friend," Sebastian replied with a false brightness. His stomach began to twist. The men, some women among them, he could see now, cackled at the term, and Ethan's eyes seemed to glimmer. "Do you mind getting us a drink?" At that, one of the men ducked away.  
"I don't think I should be here."  
"That's what everyone thinks at first. Don't worry. So...how's school?"  
Sebastian didn't answer, staring into the distance. His head was beginning to pound, wrists throbbing as if blood was pouring from them, and his ears suddenly took on a tide that ebbed and flowed, crashing in pulses against his eardrum. Something was wrong.  
Ethan was polite, he assured himself. Ethan was safe, safer than anyone else he knew, at least. He was nice, and he'd invited him to a party...he never went to parties.  
He looked around. Men stared at him from the shadows with some kind of sick longing, bulging eyes out of the sockets of maggot ridden skeletons that made him want to shrink away. They felt like demons, contorted incubi....was this what his mother thought being queer was? He could no longer deny that he liked men, really, he stopped denying that little nagging voice a while ago, especially after puberty made it hard to push the thought away during gym class, or sex ed. What he did know was that he might've liked men, but not these ones. Never these ones. He never really got how he'd ever figured out his sexuality when he was surrounded by appalling teens who acted like little boys, ogling and stinking up classrooms like slobbering, untrained dogs...this was worse, decidedly so. He wanted to go back to school.  
"Seb? You okay?"  
"Are you 36?"  
The boy's head was still pounding.  
"...What?"  
"I'm 15. Are you 36?"  
"Where'd you pull that number from, kid?" He laughed, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I'm not that old."  
That settled it. That was enough, the next time another stranger texted him he was blocking them. Just in time for the awkward situation to die down, one of the men came back with a drink and handed it to the teen. He sipped it daintily, recoiling in unsuccessfully disguised distain for....whatever it was. It tasted bitter, like wine that someone had pissed in.  
"It's alcohol, hun."  
"I'm too young for that..."  
"A bit won't kill you. Trust me." A chilling wink.  
Sebastian downed the drink, his face screwing up as the bitterness hit the back of his throat. Something about it tasted chalky, and it didn't help with the overall fermented-vegetable-piss-flavor of the stuff. Ethan and the other man, whose name was still undisclosed, gave each other a brief look as he threw back the disgusting beverage.  
"I....I'm gonna go...throw this cup away," he mumbled, holding up the flimsy solo cup. "I don't think I should have any more."  
Before either of the men could protest, he ducked away, tossing the cup towards the trashcan and missing tragically before he went outside. His movements seemed slower, like he was constantly catching his breath, and when he looked down at his feet it was to his great surprise that he seemed to have two pairs, and he couldn't tell which was real. Surprise turned to dismay as he realized exactly how stupid he must look, and he attempted to dash outside. He could hear quickening footsteps behind him, fading out in favor of the crashing of cymbals in his ears that left his entire world buzzing.  
He didn't know much about alcohol, but he knew it wasn't supposed to work this quickly. The urge to throw up surged through him, and the energy his gagging took from him caused him to almost collapse. He was seeing everything in twos now, and he crawled miserably away from the puddle of bile on the lawn to lie in the cool grass. His head felt warm, the rest of him cold, and he lay trying to catch his breath as his eyes focused desperately on what was maybe a real flower. He wasn't sure, there were four of them.  
Someone towered over him, but he had no more energy to get up. Whatever they were, they hoisted him over their shoulder, and Sebastian let out a long groan. It was the most struggling he could afford.  
They carried him, bridal style, to a familiar black car. His vision was all too clear now- he could see that it was Ethan carrying him, and he moaned again as the man put him in the back seat of the car and jolted forward. Eventually, after what seemed like hours of going over potholes with nauseating bumps and splutters of protest from the still beat-up car, he parked at the motel Sebastian had shown him. Well, they could've been across the country for all Sebastian knew, but they were somewhere, and the car had ceased jouncing like it had a mind of its own. He was still dizzy as Ethan carried him up a flight of stairs and let his legs touch the ground momentarily to unlock a motel door. The next thing he knew, he'd been pushed down onto a dingy bed, and the other was going to fetch water for him.  
Ethan looked weathered. Older now, in the flickering light, vitiligo crawling up one side of his face like niter on a damp cave wall. He chewed at his lip, staring fixedly at a spot on the floor. Sebastian's view of him slowly deepened and darkened, and his eyes fluttered closed as the pounding in his head took over his sight and marched him into unconsciousness.


	4. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian begins to find it suspicious that Ethan is there for him in practically every situation where he is to blame. The church's homophobia starts to fester in him as guilt.

"What happened?"  
Sebastian woke up at around 3 in the morning, hair ruffled, with a pounding headache that wouldn't go away. Ethan was in the same position that he'd been in previously, hands clasped together, white-knuckled, in a stressed fashion that gave away his every intention. He spoke softly, in a tone that was very unlike him.  
"They tried to take you."  
"Who did?"  
"One of them. I thought they were my friends."  
"The men?"  
A nod.  
"They drugged you, Seb." He shifted in his chair as his charge stared uncomfortably sat him, put off by the nickname. "They'll try again. I shouldn't've invited you."  
"You shouldn't have," Sebastian grumbled in agreement, swinging his still-weak legs off of the squeaky mattress he laid upon, only to almost fall to the floor. Ethan helped him up; his grip was lingering, tighter than it should have been, like he was clutching a proud possession for dear life.  
The boy didn't like it one bit.  
"I wanna go home."  
"You can't walk."  
He cleared his throat, nodding down to Sebastian's legs. Sebastian realized, with great annoyance, that his fly was undone...was he walking around like that all evening?  
"What about your car?" He inquired, straightening his shirt collar and looking up at Ethan.  
"Out of gas."  
"...ah."  
He begrudgingly let himself be helped back into bed, something bitter and acidic rising in his throat as he felt his elder look at him with the same...shrouded want that the other men had. Pushing it deep down inside, he laid there, willing himself to sleep.  
Ethan was looking at his lips, now.  
Sebastian turned to his side, so that he wasn't facing the other.  
"Goodnight, Seb."  
"Goodnight."  
Ethan got up and walked out of the room, the soles of his shoes leaving dirty, well-tread marks in the cheap carpeting. As Seb drifted off, he swore he could hear a little girl crying out, followed by the click of a lock.

Unknown: hello  
Unknown: hello  
Unknown: sebastian  
Unknown: get out  
Unknown: get out right now  
Unknown: tell your parents he's stalking you and get out  
Unknown: you never told him your address  
Unknown: sebastian

Sebastian Moretti was sleeping like a baby, and he would until morning.

Ethan drove him home right after daybreak - he must've gone to get gas beforehand or something, because his tank was almost full - and Sebastian slipped through the ajar front door of his house, expecting to find a borderline comatose mother slipping slowly into the crease of the couch like spare change, but instead he found her sitting on said couch with her mascara running.  
"Where the hell were you?"  
"Out. Why the hell do you care?"  
"Don't use that word. Where did that strange man take you?"  
"Out," he repeated, with a steely gaze.  
"When your father wakes up, he's going to be furious." She stood up, waggling a bony finger at him. "Get dressed for church. I want you to look presentable."

~

"Forgive me, father, for I have sinned."  
"What is your sin, young man?"  
"I let a man kiss me...he kissed me on the hand when he said goodbye. And I believe...I believe he has done other things to me in my sleep."

~

Sebastian Moretti was running.  
His face was purple and swelling, and he could hear it in his head. His father, rife with accusations, chasing him around the house and calling him a deadbeat as if he'd raised him any better. Waving report cards in his face, shrieking like a banshee in high-pitched Italian. The blood that rushed to the fragile skin around the boy's eyes pulsated with every curse recalled into his mind, tears rushing hot down bruised skin, and he managed to collapse into the dewy grass at the nearby park with heaving, mirthful sobs as he realized what he'd done.  
He never ran away from beatings, but here he was.  
The sobbing turned into cackling, and he lay there in the ocean of moist, cushioned green, laughing his head off until it was clear and he was left to stare up at the sky and wonder exactly what made any of this so funny to him. His eyes were swelling up, and he gasped for air, focusing in on a dreadlocked head that appeared above him in the darkening twilight.  
"You look like a mess."  
"Hah, fuck off."  
He didn't know where the foul mouth had come from, but the man hovering above him just laughed with him, helping him slowly to his feet.  
"Your mom and dad must be worried sick, sweetheart."  
"My mom and dad did this, 'cause apparently no one who's ever in confessional can keep a secret."  
"Shit, figures...don't they have a vow against that or something?"  
"I think they're s'posed to."  
They paused, a silence all too familiar between them. Ethan's grip tightened on Sebastian's arm.  
"What did you tell them?"  
He sounded more serious. Gruff, like he was worried about something more than the beat up boy standing in front of him.  
"Sebastian, what did you say?"  
"I said that you kissed me on the hand. And that I woke up in your motel room with my fly undone."  
Ethan's grip became a vice.  
"Why?"  
"Because God wanted the truth."  
He stepped away, laughing mirthlessly.  
"Whaddya think I did to you, Seb? Jesus, it was probably undone from the start, you're damn touchy for a kid who wanted to go to th' party anyway..."  
More tears stung at Sebastian's ducts, and he gulped, rubbing at the place right below his shoulder that Ethan had gripped so tightly.  
"I'm sorry...Ethan, I'm sorry."  
He felt like something was wrong. Something was going to go wrong, and he knew it, and it made him want to puke, but he couldn't bear to do anything but stay in place. Instead of doing anything, Ethan just shook his head slowly.  
"Why'd you do it, Seb?"  
He stepped closer. Watching, waiting.  
"You know I wouldn't do a damn thing to hurt you, why'd you do it?"  
Then came the tears. Again. White hot, cascading down adolescent cheeks as Sebastian cried out of guilt. Ethan just pulled him close as if he hadn't been the one to make him cry, shushing the boy like a worried mother. He rubbed his back and kissed his forehead in what seemed like a moment of tenderness; one that, if Sebastian hadn't been crying, would have been much more uncomfortable for the both of them. Sebastian had noticed things, now, that he hadn't before. Needles in the public park trashcans, the smell of skunkweed where it shouldn't have been, only it came from cigarettes. People looking at him with such a fierce animosity that it made him want to shrink into himself. He didn't even notice as Ethan pulled him towards the car, still broken and newly covered in the smell of the aforementioned 'skunkweed', stumbling along with him. He sat, silent, in the backseat of the car.  
When they got to the motel room, he accepted the glass of water the man had given him with very little grace, but chugged it in order to replenish what had been wasted. He was just licking his chapped lips, desperate to get some moisture back into them, when he saw Ethan looking at him like some sort of predator.  
It wasn't long before their lips were together. Sebastian didn't remember when it happened, and he didn't remember consenting, but all he knew was that the other man's hand was on the nape of his neck and was holding him fast.  
He didn't know whether this was love. He didn't know what his kind of love looked like on TV. All he knew was that this was sin, and no one could know, even if it pained him to let it happen.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note:  
> This is a work meant to bring awareness to modern day slavery, not just in the world around us but in the very cities we live in. I am going off of research from the Human Trafficking Resource Center, as well as news sources and personal testimonies. As a fifteen year old who has never been involved with this, feel free to correct me on something or leave suggestions- all I have are the accounts of those brave enough to speak up. This is not intended for romanticization of the terrible crime going on in our world, so fuck you if that's what you're reading this for.  
> If you or someone you know may be a victim of human trafficking, please contact the resource(s) below, and if you are not in the US and have a hotline, please comment or message it to me so I can add it.  
> US: 1-888-373-7888
> 
> There are an estimated 21 million victims of human trafficking in the world today, and the people who think this is okay make an estimated 150 billion a year worldwide off of the suffering of others. 55% of these victims are women and girls, and a large percent of them are in the care of our governments' foster systems when they are taken.  
> In the US alone, the National Human Trafficking Hotline receives over 100 calls per day, and the number of victims per year is only rising.  
> Help reduce that number to zero.
> 
>  
> 
> ADDITIONAL AUTHOR'S NOTE:
> 
> THIS IS NOT MADE TO DEMONIZE PEOPLE CONSENSUALLY WORKING IN THE ADULT ENTERTAINMENT/FILM INDUSTRY EITHER. IT IS A REAL JOB, BUT HAS BEEN CORRUPTED BY A BUNCH OF SICKOS WHO THINK IT'S OKAY TO FORCEFULLY TAKE SOMEONE'S INNOCENCE. THANK YOU.
> 
> Sources:  
> The Polaris Project  
> National Human Trafficking Resource Hotline


End file.
